


Judgment Day

by copernicusjones



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Animal Parade
Genre: F/M, Ugly Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copernicusjones/pseuds/copernicusjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Guess what, Julius! I just ran it by Hamilton and we're having an ugly sweater contest this year instead of the fashion show!"</p><p>Cue Julius's best "The Scream" impersonation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judgment Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evilicing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilicing/gifts).



This was actually the worst day of Julius's life.

He'd honestly thought, oh no, it could have been much worse! That instead of choosing to  _judge_  the Castanet Island Ugly Sweater Contest, he could have actually been  _in_  it!

It seemed like the obvious decision at the time. Armed with his perfectly tailored cashmere pullover, he was merely playing  _messenger—_ doling out the deserved judgment to those foolish enough to make a mockery of fashion, to stoop so low that it went beyond "quirky" or "eccentric" to downright  _tacky_.

But now, as he sat at the judge's table with Gill and Candace, he'd come to the conclusion he'd made a terrible mistake.

At least if he were participating, he would know how to make an ugly sweater  _shine_. Would lead by example, as the flawless fashion maven, the beacon of perfection that he was.

And then exited promptly, torn the sweater off and taken great satisfaction in unraveling it and burning every last  _cheap_ , gaudy little fiber of it.

No, instead, he was being assaulted endlessly, tortured not just by the winter air drying his skin but by the inexperienced contestants and their enthusiasm for this travesty.

Further illustrated by contestant number six, Kathy, whose sweater  _just might_  be the winner, even over Chloe's purple-and-white martians-and-snowman disaster.

"Oh,  _honey,_ " Julius tutted under his breath as Kathy's boots clopped with every over-dramatic step down the runway. Her hips swung from side-to-side in what Julius guessed was supposed to be a sashay _,_ but in reality was every bit as elegant and graceful as the mud-brown Wild-West themed smiling reindeer that must have been sewn onto her sweater by a blind person.

"That was splendid, Kathy!" Hamilton clapped from the sidelines, which were nothing more than a few rows of chairs surrounding the stage constructed there in the church plaza.

If splendid meant 'please kill me with papercuts-and-lemon-juice' then yes, Julius agreed. Splendid!

Hand on her hip, Kathy winked at the judges, obviously taking this seriously enough to try and play up to them. In the crowd, Owen and Luke wolf-whistled and howled.

"U-Um, I think your sweater r-really suits you... and... y-you had a lot of enthusiasm," Candace stuttered out, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear and giving Kathy a watery smile. "Eight...?"

Of course. Dear Candace had been employed to be the  _nice_  judge—she wouldn't dare voice anything honest, if it would even minutely hurt anyone's feelings.

Gill, the second judge, had spent most of the contest uncharacteristically slouched in his seat, as low as possible, with a hand acting as a shield at his forehead

"...-ven," he muttered.

"Gill!" Hamilton scolded. "Speak up!"

"Six!" Gill blurted, even though Julius was quite sure he had  _just_  tried to say 'seven'. "Six! It was..." —his voice trembled, cracked. " _Splendid_!"

Gill had not been watching. He had, in fact, not looked at the contestants for a single second, since he had arrived and seen the great banner above the stage proclaiming "CASTANET ISLAND UGLY SWEATER CONTEST 2014" also featured a blown-up photograph of toddler Gill, dressed in a red-and-green zig-zag pattern sweater sporting both jingly bells  _and_  a fluffy, Santa-like collar.

He would have had Julius's fullest sympathies, if Julius wasn't using them up entirely on himself at the moment.

But he had a job to do, and a judgment to pass, and as with every previous contestant, had a very  _particular_  way of doing so.

"Kathy, sweetheart?~" He tilted his head just so, knowing it would show off the dazzling earrings he'd picked out for today. "You know those adorable baby horses you love so much?"

She beamed at him, and nodded. "Yeah?

His simpering smile turned into a most disdainful glare. "They have a better walk than you. One."

Kathy shrieked and bolted from the stage, and Julius sighed boredly at the empty threats Owen and Luke started hurling at him.

It actually wasn't the worst reaction of the day; Selena had gotten her fiery red nails inches from his face when he'd asked where the rest of her sweater was, only to be restrained by Hayden and Cain. And poor, poor Maya had collapsed to her knees crying when Julius told her that her every-bright-color-imaginable sweater dress looked like a unicorn had vomited all over her—and then licked it up and vomited again.

"Ah... Well, in a few minutes will be our final contestant! Molly!"

Julius's jaw clenched at the mention of his girlfriend, and he couldn't help but busy himself with scratching out random symbols on the notepad each of the judges had been given, instead of looking out into the crowd and seeing dozens of faces staring at him.

Faces wondering if he would have the wherewithal to judge his girlfriend, who not only had promised to have the most horrendous, eye-gouging abomination of them all, but was  _responsible_  for this event in the first place.

Julius had learned a lot in the year he'd dated Molly—he'd learned to overlook minor imperfections, like the dirt beneath her fingernails, the occasional tear in her leggings or the make-up free days she opted for—until one day, he wasn't overlooking them. He was in love with them, with  _her_. Because of her unflappable composure, her fierce dedication to him and to all of Castanet, and how her unwavering, brilliant smile—the most important accessory of them all—was always there when he needed it most.

And for all that, he was so sure she understood  _him_ , loved him, and his unquenchable desire to not only find beauty in the world, but make sure it was provided back in kind.

But no, this  _farce_  was her idea. And not even in an offhand manner like, "I wonder what it'd be like if we had an ugly sweater contest instead of the yearly fashion show?"

It was, "Guess what, Julius! I just ran it by Hamilton and we're having an ugly sweater contest this year instead of the fashion show!"

Cue Julius's best "The Scream" impersonation.

"Lighten up, Julius!" She'd told him, clamping her hand over his mouth. "It'll be  _fun_!"

No! No! Not fun!  _Fun_  was picnics on Moon Hill or spending her birthday in a cabana on Toucan Island! Fun was  _not_ having to watch Luke parade around in a sweater with tinsel-coated flamingos and sharks swimming through wreathes!

He didn't want to question his relationship with Molly—it was so... _sweet_ , for lack of a better word, with how normal they were as a couple, for being considered "weird" as individuals.

But her spontaneous decision to not only  _have_ this dreadful contest, but to beg and plead he be present in some facet for it truly concerned him. Made him wonder if she truly  _knew_  him, or if he was a joke to her, much as he'd been to, well,  _everyone else_  during his school days.

"And now...!" Hamilton announced, snapping Julius away from his doodles—he'd ended up scribbling hearts around Molly's initials, for Goddess's sake—and back into the here-and-now.

An eruption of applause followed as Miss Molly Greene strutted out onto the runway before Hamilton had even finished her name.

Oh, she was wrong; her sweater was  _not_  unforgettable.

Because Julius was going to schedule himself for a lobotomy the second this was over, to ensure this entire day was wiped from his memory.

It was  _every_  fashion faux-pas he could imagine, and more. Shapeless and over-sized, yarns of pea-soup green and over-ripened peach blended together in several different knits. The cuffs were houndstooth print but the collar was a tartan plaid.  _Sequins_ on the right shoulder and rhinestones on the left one and... _oh_ , there was a decorative zipper on the right sleeve!?

The even  _more_  hideous mauve turnip cross-stitched on the front of the sweater was  _blinking—_ and it wasn't that he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, passing to the after life—it was that she'd actually somehow installed wiring to make the  _thing_  flash.

Yet somehow, what he was really noticing most out of everything was Molly—she was still beautiful. In some sort of outside-looking-in way, he was  _aware_  of this fact. That he was a different Julius.

Who knew real beauty not when because saw it, but because he was  _experiencing_  it.

To a growing chorus of cheers, Molly made her way along the runway as if she lived there,  _owned_  it even. All the way down to the end and back again, waving to her friends like this was Paris Fashion Week. Even with the yarn-monster eyesore she was wearing serving as the center of attention, Molly had decided, unlike the other contestants, to add some very chic accessories.

A fetching suede hobo bag swung from her shoulder, and from within it she pulled out a pair of over-sized sunglasses—pouting and posing as she put them on, and off again, and on again, over and over to the delight of the crowd.

There was no music, of course, but in Molly's head there must have been. Julius could even hear it in his own mind—the days before they were a couple and she'd come over to his place to try on accessories, put on a little fashion show for him with various pop CDs serving as a soundtrack

He watched her, mouthing the lyrics to himself as her feet followed the beat of the words to perfection.  _Walk, walk, fashion baby. Work it._ She crouched down at the front of the stage, leaning towards him and lowering her sunglasses to allow their eyes to meet as she mouthed the rest of the words along with him.  _I'm a free bitch, baby._  
  
She crooked her finger repeatedly in a come-hither gesture, and he was just about to lean in and kiss that adorable little pout right off her face when she suddenly backed away, laughing.

Julius was puzzled—everyone was still cheering—that she'd... what, tricked him! Toyed with him! N-No, this was a waking nightmare, this—

An elbow jabbed at his side. Where Julius expected to see a frown from his fellow judge, he saw an amused shadow of a smile. "Go up there, idiot."

 _Idiot_ , indeed.

They weren't cheering what Molly had done—they were urging Julius to follow her. Even after all his poisoned barbs, it was as if this had been... _planned_. That everyone was  _in_  on some grand plot, except him.

So, carefully, he stood, rounded over to the staged and climbed up on it, Molly taking his hand to help.

"Hi, Julius." She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his smooth cheek.

"Hey!" Luke shouted out, and Julius immediately spotted the carpenter pointing up at the two of them. "No fair! No bribing the judges!... Unless... Hey, Gill, when's the last time you—" Luke dashed off in Gill's direction.

There was the clatter of Gill's chair and the heavy pounding of footsteps as Julius reached to take Molly's sunglasses off her face and gingerly hooked them to the collar of her sweater. "What's this about, Molly?"

He kept his tone light, teasing, but inside he was more of a mess than the lacy frills of the cardigan Yolanda had worn for the contest.

He was still waiting for the other finely-cobbled shoe to fall. It was obvious now, by the dim, buzzing whispers of the crowd (minus Luke and Gill) that there was an expected  _ending_  to this contest. Molly had never been given a score, from him or any of the judges, and yet she was grinning as if she'd already won.

Her hand shot into her spacious purse, and came out with a rectangular lump the approximate shade of a dead frog. "This is about  _you_  thinking you could get away without wearing one!"

Unfurling the sweater, he stared at the wretched design overtaking it: some bizarre blue and yellow candy cane, checkered instead of striped, and framed with gaudy faux-feathers. How many Fugue Mushrooms did someone have to ingest to dream this up?

Though her smile was confident, Molly was clenching at her purse strap with both hands. "... _Please_?"

Julius glanced up to let his gaze pan over those watching—at the anticipatory smiles, some slightly more vengeful than others. From this vantage point—on the runway,  _above_  everyone and alongside Molly, this decision wasn't as difficult for him as everyone was likely assuming, the way the murmuring had softened into an uneasy silence.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" He wasn't annoyed by her insistence, like he had been before the contest. It was impossible to be anything but captivated by how she had taken something that was nothing but a stain, a blemish and dressed it up in glitter, sparkles and googly eyes and made it her own. "Would this really make you happy?"

"Only if I get to judge  _you_." Her sienna eyes grew brighter as she realized he was on the cusp of agreeing to her proposition. "So you're... going to wear it?"

"Oh no, darling." He flashed her a saucy smile. "I'm going to  _work_  it."

* * *

One would think that a trophy declaring one the champion for an Ugly Sweater Contest would be equally, if not more, ostentatious than the sweaters themselves.

However, Julius had to admit the polished brass ornament—a literal  _trophy cup_ —was... well, he could bear to look at it without feeling as if his corneas were going to melt out.

When he wasn't busy keeping his eyes on who was holding it: Molly, the winner by default, everyone agreed, since she'd managed to get Julius to put on the ugly sweater.

Julius had come in second. Candace's ten was because of Julius showing what a caring boyfriend he was, though what that had to do with his professional, precisely-executed runway walk, he had no clue. But it wasn't as if he deserved anything  _other_  than a ten.

Gill had returned only at the end of Julius's time on stage, all a-fluster from Luke's (failed) attempt to run him down. However, he pointedly stated since he didn't want Julius to either argue or try to bribe him... "Ten."

And Molly—well, Molly first consulted the crowd, considering scores from each and every contestant he had previously judged.

If she were to go by their opinion alone, his score would have ended up somewhere around negative eleventy billion.

But Molly evened out her own score with the crowd's, so Julius ended with the total of twenty-nine-point-nine-nine-nine...

Not quite perfect.

"You're going to have to get it engraved, you know. By moi, of course. Anything you want.~" Julius traced his finger along the blank plaque at the base of the trophy, where there was room for the name of the winner.

The two of them were still at the plaza, sitting together on the edge of the stage, even though everyone else had dispersed down to the Brass Bar for food and drinks about twenty minutes ago. For a winter night, it was rather nice, mild and void of any wind, with an almost-full moon above them.

And the stage, though solid and pricking a bit through his jeans, was still more comfortable to Julius than being shoved back into a pack of sore losers who would be given easy access to spiked eggnog and hot buttered rum. That combination would only end uglier than the contest itself.

"Oh... anything?" Molly was turned slightly in toward him, enough that the trophy balanced on her left leg and Julius's right. "Huh, then...how 'bout, 'Winner: Molly, First Loser: Julius'?"

Julius fought the urge to z-snap in her face, and simply rolled his eyes. "Bitch,  _please_."

"Or...!" Molly giggled. "The First line: 'Winner: Molly Greene'... second line... 'Not Julius, hahahahaha!'"

"No can do. " He tapped his finger playfully on the tip of her nose, a tap for each word.

"Okay, okay!" She pushed his hand away. "Uh, what about... oh! 'First place: Molly Greene, Supreme Fashion Goddess of Castanet Island. Second place: Julius, Junior Fashionista and Molly's boyfriend who she loves even though though he came in second.'"

Well, besides the fact that  _that_  was even longer than her first two ideas.

"You... ah... hmmmm...?!"

The air felt suddenly very dense, heavy; pressing in on him that everything around him was cloudy and indiscernible except for Molly here in front of him.

He'd never heard Molly say that to him. Or,  _about_  him.

Oh,  _he'd_ said it to her. Not very long after they'd started dating, actually, maybe two, three weeks? At the past Flower Festival, she'd given him a bottle of his favorite perfume, and he just sort of  _said_ it. He'd meant it too, but she gave him a very peculiar look, like he'd just told her something that was  _too much information_.

And since then, though he had no problem showing her affection and raining compliments on her, he was very careful about that word.

Hopefully his expression hadn't faltered at all—although, if anyone had to see a vulnerable side, let it be Molly. She'd seen him in what he wore today—what he was still wearing. It couldn't be any worse, could it?

Despite the twisty feeling somewhere in his middle, Julius found the resolve to keep his lips curled into a coy little smirk.

"Ah, well, I'll give that one some thought. I think I like it best of all, though."

"Good." Molly's arm slid into his and she snuggled closer. Which would have been nice if not for all the scratchiness and bulkiness of her sweater. Julius had no choice but to try and lean away.

"Ugh, Molly,  _please_."

"Please what?" She put on a fake innocent tone, fluttering her lashes at him, not relinquishing her on hold him but instead nuzzling closer, rubbing her face up and down his arm like a friendly cat.

"Please can we get  _the hell_  out of these Goddess-awful things?!"

Instead of bantering back with him as he'd expected, Molly's other hand released the trophy—it clanged to the hard cobblestone ground—and she climbed into Julius's lap, kissing him hard, hard, _harder,_ their breathing meshed together as one, feverish.

"Only if you rip it off me." She rasped against his lips as his hands skated down her body, settling right below the tail of her sweater.

His time had come.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for ff.net Evil Icing as part of the 2014 Secret Santa exchange on The Village Square forums! I really like Julius, so this was tons of fun. Both starryluminara and Yoru No Angel from ff.net were big helps in assisting me with this, so props to them listening to me rant as I concocted and wrote this in the final hours. But I loved writing this. Julius is basically the best.


End file.
